Not Just Human
by Silentreader034
Summary: Some paintings aren't meant to stay in their canvas. A story of a certain information broker and a mural that comes to life at night. A mural that knows more about humanity than Izaya, who would've thought?
1. Chapter 1

_Say why do you think humans paint people who don't exist?_

Is it to satisfy curiosity? Or is it because we wish they were real? What compels humans to pursue an aimless dream? Because it can never come true no matter what they wish?  
These were some questions a certain informant asked himself sometimes as he watched artists paint empty walls on the streets or in sketchbooks in the park. They were almost like another species always submerged in their own fabricated world.

He didn't find much interest in artists, especially since they never seemed concerned about the world around them. Always with their ears plugged away from the world.

It was no different as he watched an artist painting a wall nearby his apartment. They were sitting atop a ladder to reach higher ground of the wall painting something. It looked to be a mural of some sort however it was still barely done. From afar he could make out the etchings of various flowers and maybe a person?

The artist he noticed looked to be around the same age as him if maybe a little younger considering his or her choice of hair colours. It was either a young slender man or a young woman. Dressed in a loose fitting white blouse and cargo pants splattered with different paints. It was difficult to guess their gender. Their hair colour was also hidden away by the hat they wore obscuring his view of them.

"Is that supposed to be an angel?" Izaya asked.

The artist stopped their hand and looked down to meet his eyes. He noticed that he or she wore glasses. Their eyes a pale lavender narrowed at his appearance. Their voice was muffled by the surgical mask they wore, probably to avoid inhaling so many paint fumes. "You'll see him at night." The artist answered from above.

? Why at night? Was this person intending to work and finish today?

"I'd love to meet him." Izaya said half heartedly not really interested.

"You will soon," The artist frowned. "But why did you come out now? The sun hasn't come down yet." The girl placed her paint brush in the water next to her and began going down the ladder.

She stepped down the ladder walking towards Izaya at a fast pace. "Is there something wrong? It's not safe for you to be out with so many people."

She lifted his arm, checking for something. She or he then turned him around and the next thing he knew the artist had given him a body check.

"You must have me mistaken for someone else." Izaya lightly commented ready to attack the artist for getting a little too close to his personal space.

"What are you talking about? Of course I know who you are. We need to get you back before someone sees you." The artist said almost confused at his words. His hand was grabbed, but then the artist paused squeezing his hand one more time as if to double check for something.

After a moment, the artist pushed him away in what he presumed was shock. "You're… not one of them."

Izaya raised an eyebrow. What exactly did he mean _not one of them? _

The artist shook his or her head turning away from him. "No, it's nothing. It's best if you don't know."

"You must love painting to ignore the rest of the world to paint one that doesn't exist." It was interesting to see what kind of reaction he'd get from these solitary type of humans if he insulted them in a vague way.

He couldn't read the artist's expression because their whole profile was covered by their glasses, hat and that surgical mask, but he felt that he must've hit a nerve. There was no way of telling their expression.

But he still managed to hear their muffled voice. "It's not a matter of love or hate."

The artist looked up at Izaya meeting his reddish brown eyes with a clear and honest gaze that seemed a little sad and saying in calm but muted voice.

_"It's just easier to paint than to ignore their existence." _

The artist went back to work afterwards refusing to talk to him anymore than that, even going so far as to plug earphones into their ears leaving Izaya amused at how serious their answer was.

* * *

That was the first and last time Izaya encountered that artist, but afterwards the mural was finished covering the entire cement wall. But whenever he passed that particular mural near his apartment, he was always left in unease.

He'd stare at the man in the mural, the man had pure white hair and his eyes closed holding a bouquet of flowers. The man's face was stoic, void of emotion. The man wore a simple white button up and wornout jeans. There was a white bird and a black crow that were painted above the man's head as if protecting him.

It was a beautiful mural done for a shop nearby on the concrete walls. There were numerous flowers around the male sitting on what looked to be a porch in the mural. He was the only human in a sea of flowers.

The man in the mural seemed quite tall and delicate for a man emitting almost an angelic air about him. In face at a closer look the flowers almost looked to be arranged to look like wings behind the man.

He looked too pure and innocent to last in a city full of gang wars.

"You wouldn't last a day in this city." Izaya murmured out loud to the mural, "But, you'd make an interesting pawn."

It would be interesting to what type of chaos could be created through purity and innocence. It would be exciting to see how this man would be tainted in this city full of humans.

"I see you've noticed the mural, Izaya." Shinra appeared before Izaya in his usual attire of lab coat and briefcase.

In response, Izaya smirked sticking his hands in his pockets. "Shinra, what brings you here?"

"The usual. Clients who can't call the hospital." Shinra answered while looking up at the mural before them. "You know it seems like these murals are becoming well known here."

"Artists huh. I have no interest in artists." Izaya said. In truth, Izaya just didn't understand them. They were a totally different type of creature always submerged in their own worlds created by their own conscious. They weren't very interesting considering they tended to be solitary creatures. They tended to forget humans existed outside their mind.

The artist he met before was exactly as he expected except for their last words to him.

_It's just easier to paint than to ignore their existence. _

What could that mean exactly, Izaya tended to wonder.

"But I've heard rumours about this artist. Apparently, art dealers will pay millions to get a hand on this particular artist's work. However, that's more difficult than said." Shinra continued.

"Oh? What makes their work so special?"

"The artist rarely paints anything other than murals or public art. It seems that their work tends to have the air of being haunted by ghosts." Shinra said in a whisper. "Or stuff tends to go missing or get added without the artist's doing to the paintings."

That was quite interesting. An artist who could bring ghosts to life through paint. Oh the possibilities if that power was used for something more illegal. Izaya smirked. "That's quite a feat. Are you sure the artist isn't some kind of magician?"

"Well it's just an urban legend, so I don't know. You can tell it's their work because of the signature." Shinra explained "Look right there."

Shinra pointed to the wings drawn in the bottom right corner. "That's their signature."

Not much could be interpreted by this type of signature except that this artist liked to be unique.

Izaya looked closer at the mural staring at the fine details of the male's face. Was there really such a man so delicate in Ikebukuro with those features? It hardly seemed plausible. But if the painter could paint him so lifelike, it made the information broker wonder who was this man to the artist?

He sighed. This was why he didn't like artists. Their work never held concrete answers. The only person who could explain the paintings in full detail were the artist themselves.

"A pair of wings huh…" Izaya murmured quietly with a smirk at the white haired man in the mural. "I wonder who you'll haunt."

Shinra shrugged not as interested however if he recalled correctly, the person who had told him those rumours was his dad so it may actually be true.

"I need to get going. Celty is waiting for me back home." Shinra said waving goodbye to the informant leaving him to walk back to his apartment.

* * *

Later that night, Izaya realized he could see that mural from his apartment window. It was hard to miss considering in the moonlight it seemed to faintly glow. The white haired male seemed to be smiling in the mural with his eyes closed.

He was pretty sure that smile wasn't there when he last saw it.

Izaya took one last look at the mural before going to bed.

However, he could never guess what would happen a few days later.

When he left the apartment, he came to look at the mural once more. But...

There was something different about the mural.

Izaya frowned staring at the blue roses and baby breaths in the man's hands. There seemed to be a few flowers missing from the bouquet he held. He couldn't recall the artist coming back here to work on the mural. But then how could the number of flowers reduce?

"Are you giving away your flowers?" Izaya asked the mural knowing full well the painting couldn't hear him.

Izaya walked forward heading for Ikebukuro deciding to cast that as just as his imagination.

But as he weaved through the streets, he noticed a little girl holding the same blue roses and baby breaths as the mural.

"Kaa-san, look at the pretty flowers!"

"Oh my they're beautiful. Who gave them to you?"

"A man with pretty white hair."

Izaya's suspicions were getting heavier wondering whether than rumour was true. That the paintings were really haunted.

Out of the corner of his eye he could've sworn he saw a tall man with snow white hair walk past him and then disappear. But that was impossible, it must've been just a rumour.

The next day he looked through his apartment window wondering if he was just seeing things. It didn't look like the male had moved whatsoever, but from such a far distance he couldn't be sure.

The mural wasn't that big but it was made of bright pastel colours that didn't fit the city image. Spray paint was the most common art he'd seen. Especially gang symbols.

Come to think of it. It was strange that none of the gangs had vandalized the mural yet.

That was also a question to consider. What made this mural so special that no one had tried to take it down as of yet?

Sometimes when he stepped outside he'd pass by the mural to get a better look. Today there was the addition of new flowers to the mix.

It looked like a clump of white flowers. A flower he wasn't familiar with. Maybe he'd look it up online when he went home.

Still it made the raven a little curious to prove his theory. Whether the mural was haunted or not. He wondered if the white haired male was a relative of the artist, a lover maybe? Probably someone dear to the artist. Why else would they spend so much time painting a mural so well done in this city? Perhaps this man had already left this world.

It had become a habit to look at the mural of the white haired man from his window before going to bed and every morning, just to make sure that the mural really was just a mural. There were definitely subtle changes in the mural. That he was sure of.

He'd even stooped so low as to ask others about haunted paintings.

Then there was one time where he noticed a bunch of teenagers holding spray paint cans in their hands. There were four of them from what Izaya could tell from afar.

"Hey I dare you to paint a moustache on his neck." One said to his buddies.

"Don't forget to draw a dick on his face." The other snickered.

The teenagers were laughing getting ready to spray paint the mural. Normally Izaya would just watch from a distance to watch what the teens would do next, but somehow...

He had this feeling that he'd be cursed by those birds if he ignored them. He noticed a certain bartender walking by and he got an idea.

He smirked to himself. This was going to be interesting.

First off, he needed to get their attention.

He threw one of his knives aimed at one of their hands. The teen withdrew their hand letting go of the can. The can dropped to the floor with a clatter.

"YO WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!" The one in the yellow hoodie yelled. He turned his head noticing Izaya standing a few feet away with a smirk.

"You know it's illegal to be vandalizing private property." Izaya teased

"SHUT THE FUCK UP MAN. We'll do what we want." One with sunglasses sneered sticking up the finger at the informant.

"Let's get him!" One of them suggested throwing his spray can in Izaya's direction.

Calculating this, Izaya dodged the spray can slicing a hole in the can midair. The blue paint started spraying all over directly aimed at the bartender.

_*PSSSSSHHH* _

Before Shizuo Heiwajima could even react more than half of his bartender suit was painted a neon blue. It was a miracle that none of it got on his face. Shizuo paused staring at the vandalism on his suit.

"_This was a gift from my little brother." _Shizuo murmured. The blond turned his head noticing the teens with the spray cans in their hands.

There was a vein throbbing on the blond's forehead ready to burst. "_You bastards. YOU'RE DEAD!" _

The group was now trembling in fear hearing rumours of the monster of Ikebukuro. "Shit you fucked up man."

"RUUUUUN!" Yellow screamed throwing another can at Shizuo but missing in his haste. Shizuo wasn't having any of that shit.

"YOU ASSHOLES GET BACK HERE!" Shizuo roared already uprooting another street sign in his rage. And off they ran both the teenagers and Shizuo Heiwajima away from the mural.

Izaya stepping out of the shadows looked at the unharmed mural except for that little mark of blue on the cuff of the mural's sleeve. "Looks like you didn't get off unscathed." Izaya noted. "Well I guess that just adds more colour to you."

He didn't expect a thank you from the mural. But he did wish it would make some kind of response. To no avail though, the man stayed a mural. Izaya waved goodbye to the mural off to play with his little humans more. Unlike murals or paintings, humans at least responded to his words and actions.

* * *

Everything was going smoothly for the infer broker until one day he'd made a mistake in his information at night.

"_You've got some nerve feeding us false information." _One of the yakuza members said holding Izaya down while the others punched and kicked him.

Izaya could only wince in pain as he endured their attacks. One punched his stomach hard enough to make him queasy. They repeatedly did this with both their fists and blades they carried on them.

His face must've been bruised purple and red from their attacks. He wasn't sure how long these guys had been at it already, but their attacks weren't getting any weaker.

In the distance he heard police sirens getting nearer.

_"Shit it's the cops, we need to leave now."_

_"Leave 'im there. Not like anyone's gonna find him." _

_"Serves you right."_ One of the gang membered grumbled spitting on the ground before rushing to leave with the others.

The other two let go of him to run off and escape the cops.

Izaya could only slump to the ground wounded and exhausted from their attacks. His breathing was heavy and his vision hazy from the pain, but he couldn't stay here. Not unless he wanted the cops all over him asking questions.

He needed to call Shinra, but his hand didn't move to his will. He couldn't feel anything yet his body burned as if on fire. It was too dark for anyone to notice a person lying here. It was just his luck to be beaten up so late at night when very few people were still awake.

He'd heard that when a human died, his hearing would be the last to go. He wondered if that was true.

He could hear footsteps coming closer to him slow and tentative as if the person didn't know if to approach him or not.

"_Is he over here?" _A low but gentle voice asked.

In response Izaya could hear a bird chirping in response to the male's question.

The footsteps got close enough that he could now see the man's worn out sneakers. The man went down on his knees brushing Izaya's bangs of out his face. With that, Izaya caught a glimpse of white hair in a pale pretty face.

Eyes closed just like… that mural.

Izaya laughed but coughed right after. "Are you really an angel?"

The white haired man hovered his hand over Izaya's eyes obscuring his view of the man.

"_Sleep_" The man said. "_Here." _

The white hair male placed a single flower into his hand even though it hurt like hell.

Izaya almost laughed and wincing in response to that action. "I don't… ugh accept flowers from guys." What was a flower going to do for him in his current state?

He was definitely strange. Izaya thought before he closed his eyes unwillingly.

The man with his eyes still closed merely tilted his head grabbing hold of the informant behind his knees and his back and lifting him up into his arms. He did it so easily even though he looked fragile and thin, but in this guy's arm he could feel the man's strong grip on him.

Izaya could barely keep his eyes open now so tired from this ordeal. Being carried princess style by a man, how unsightly. The man had a cool body temperature and a scent of flowers on himself even in the smog of the city. Yet he carried Izaya as if he were a fragile girl. It was comical, to be carried this way at his age.

Getting beaten up, being given a flower and carried like a princess, today just wasn't his day. Especially meeting this guy.

"You're a strange human." Izaya chuckled before losing all consciousness leaning his head on the man's chest.

Walking into the city of Ikebukuro holding the troublesome man in his arms, the white haired male had to adjust his grip to keep himself from dropping him.

Unbeknownst to the informant, the white haired male murmured absentmindedly and sighed

"_That should be my line, Izaya." _

* * *

**I guess this could be a prologue to a new story? It's a little different from my usual stories where I have two OCs. I'm not very sure if this will be considered a romance necessarily, but I wanted to try a different angle this time a more fantasy theme? This time the main OC is male so let's see how this turns out. **

**Well either way please comment on what you think and review too.**

**And thanks for reading:)**

**I may edit the chapter if I feel I need to change anything. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own durarara, only own my OCs.**


	2. Chapter 2

One month ago before he was painted on this new canvas, his artist had asked a question.

_"I wonder..."_

_"What part of me do you reflect?"_

It was a question that his... mother? creator? maker? asked him. He believed that his creator was female, considering his artist had a higher and different way of talking than his own. He learned from her that was what humans called _genders. _He was supposed to be _male _and his maker was apparently _female_. Apparently there were two to start off with, but what difference would it make for him?

It wasn't like gender had anything to do with his personality.

He only heard their voices. The usual smell of paint fumes and flowers mixed into the air around him. He could feel his artist quietly working away on him, but at the time he could barely hear anything.

Still he could hear her voice.

_"You will meet many people when you awaken some like you and some that are not. I'm not sure how you'll adapt to your new home, but I'm sure you'll be fine."_

She began. She started talking about the world she lived in. The blue sky, the gray city, the colour gangs, the smell of coffee, the life she lived outside. Still even without that info he was fine. His biggest curiosity was what kind of entity he was.

But now, there was something strange. Instead of one, there was two people one was his artist, but the other smelled of rust and... he couldn't identify the other smell. Did emotions have scents? Perhaps that was why he couldn't tell what made his nose tickle.

_"Is that supposed to be an angel?"_ The man heard.

The rest of their conversation was just in bits and pieces.

"- see - at night." His artist answered.

"- - - meet him."

"- - soon" Again she answered.

"- why - you come - - -now? - sun not come down." He could hear her coming down from something.

"- - - me mistaken - someone else." The male responded.

"- - you talking -? - - I know - you -. - - - get - back before some- sees -." She protested.

"You're... not one of them." He heard clearly from his artist. Were there more just like him being created by her? She sounded shaken as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

Was the man before her not like him?

What made him and that man different?

"- - nothing. - - - best - - you don't know."

_"You must love painting to ignore the rest of the world to paint one that doesn't exist." _The man retorted rudely to his artist.

"Its not a matter of love or hate." His artist answered, but he never heard the continuation of her words to that man afterwards.

Later the man left causing the rust-like smell to disappear and just the mixture of paint fumes and flowers remained.

For a while he could hear his artist painting him. Whenever she finished a part of him he found that he gained control of that body part. First was his hand, before it was numb but now he could feel the flowers in his hand cool and light in his arms. Then the other arm and then to every other body part.

She continued this pace until he gained all his senses. His hearing grew better, his sense of smell, touch and even taste. But the world seemed too dark still in this made up world of his.

She never mentioned what kind of creature he was. She merely kept talking about non consequential things. "There are people out there who kill others. Killing means to end a life."

_What- is… a life? _" He didn't understand. Nothing she said made any sense to him, but it made him feel warm inside if that were possible.

There was a smile in his artist's voice he believed. "So you can finally talk."

"A life is a creation that can grow and adapt to new surroundings." She answered. "I've made you in a way so that you can make your own decisions."

"Do. I. h-have a life?"

"To me, you do. You breathe, you speak, you can learn." She murmured in fondness? He thought. "We are all connected by fate and coincidence."

Fate. Another word he didn't understand and she did not explain the term to him either. Staying motionless, he started to feel the ticklish brush over his so called body.

This continued on day after day however he couldn't tell what time meant. There was so much he didn't know yet, but at the same time there were quite a few things he already knew.

He knew he had a head, two arms and two legs. He learned that he was a man and his artist was a woman. He knew that his artist was a little strange considering she didn't seem to interact with people very much.

He also knew the name of every single flower and their meanings. He could speak 'Japanese' and 'English' and quite a few other languages. But he couldn't write.

Also, he didn't know what he looked like. She never described his appearance to him. So he asked shyly.

"What am I?"

He could hear her stiffen pausing her brush. There was a catch in her breath as if she didn't expect him to ask.

"What are you? I've never thought of that." She said. Even if she tried to hide her discomfort, he could sense her fear, _she was scared of him. _

There was a tint of sadness in her voice as she murmured the words that stuck with him even now.

"_You're the scariest monster of them all." _

He didn't know what kind of creature was so scary that it made his artist tremble in fear, but he must've been horrific if that were the case. What was he? A serial killer? A man eating monster? A werewolf? He didn't know. And after that he didn't ask. He was too scared to ask her for the truth. He was too scared to know what lived inside of him that made his artist fear him.

Still she continued to paint him telling him about the world just as she had done a long time ago. Almost as if she was trying to forget her words to him. Time passed and he was finally able to use his senses, the flowers in his arms gave off a mixture of scents that soothed him. But still he could not move yet.

"Do you remember what I asked you in the beginning?" She asked.

_What part of me do you reflect? _He nodded his head in response.

"Do you have an answer?" She asked him. She kept a distance from him, he realized. That's why her voice sounded farther away than usual.

"I. I don't know." He fumbled with his new voice clutching the flowers in his hands nervously.

"Is that so." She murmured to him, her soft quiet voice was almost inaudible now. _"I don't know either."_

_"However I can tell you that you are free to do whatever you want. If there is something you need, listen to my voice and find me." _

Her voice seemed a little wistful and a little sad.

"What ever I want?"

"Hai, do whatever you like. I'll be staying in this city for a little while longer until the end. Also, don't appear during the day."

"Why?"

"Because only when the sun comes down can you walk freely." She said. "It's safer if fewer people know you are alive."

"Why?"

"You're not the same as them." She answered. He could feel two cold hands pinch his face. Were his hands the same temperature?

"Got it?" She said with authority. "If you need me, all you have to do is listen for my voice. Otherwise, experience the world, find yourself."

She let go of his cheeks leaving behind a dull pain from being pinched too hard before she placed something solid into his hands.

"Hai." It was too hard to say that he wanted to stay with her.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she uttered. _"Come find me when you've found your answer." _

Even though those words were meant to be kind, why did her voice sound so cold and distant?

* * *

That was the last conversation he had with her. She didn't return to that spot, but he did learn a few things.

One that man's name was 'Izaya'

Two that man had a friend who was a doctor named 'Shinra.' A doctor was someone who helped people who had gotten hurt, his artist had told him.

Three he was what others called a _mural. _A painting of some sort. He never really understood that part. His companions chirped into his ear keeping him company guiding him when needed.

Four, nobody seemed to know that his artist was _female._

And five, there were other _murals _just like him in the area.

He could leave his spot on the wall and wander the city as he pleased but there was a time limit to how long he could leave his home.

From his spot, there were very few who actually spoke _to _him. Rather than admiring him.

"I wonder who you'll haunt." That man called 'Izaya' had said to him.

Haunt? What exactly did that mean? Haunting was meant for ghosts. From what he gather he was not a ghost but something much more scary. So how could he haunt a person?

"I need to get going. Celty is waiting for me back home." Celty? That was a strange name. Not like the ones he'd heard before.

* * *

He was just walking in his new environment when he heard wailing.

"Mommy, uwhhaau waaa! MOMMY!" A high pitched voice crying. _A child, maybe female? _

He walked closer to the crying holding what his artist called "flowers," in his arms. The closer he walked the clearer the voice became. It was coming from below him. So the owner of that voice was someone smaller than him. When he felt he reached a certain distance he crouched down to what he hoped was the little person's eye level.

"What's wrong?" He asked the owner of that tearful voice.

The little person sobbed and hiccuped "I-I lost mommy in the c-crowd."

He wasn't sure what to do in this type of situation. "What's your name?"

"U-Umi." The child responded.

Unconsciously he smiled patting the child's head. "Then, Umi, I'm sure she's looking for you too. Here."

He pulled out a flower from the supposed bouquet he was holding and offering it to the little girl.

"Wah! So pretty, is it okay to give it to me?" The girl sounded excited and delighted making him smile.

He chuckled at her question. "Of course."

"But I don't have any money." The girl whimpered.

"Iie it's fine, as long as you treasure the flower." The male said. "Flowers are meant to be shared."

"Arigato onii-chan" The girl said. He could hear the big smile in her voice than it made him smile too.

"But onii-chan are you really old?"

"Eh? No, why do you ask?" That was unexpected.

"Because your hair is really white, just like grandpa."

The male could only laugh because he didn't understand what a 'grandpa' was. Or what it meant to be 'old' for that matter.

"Is that so? I didn't know that. What about you? What's your hair colour?" He asked.

"Mine is brown! Just like mommy's."

Brown, white, another two concepts he didn't understand.

"You both must be very beautiful." He said. "I wonder if my mother has brown hair."

"Where's your mommy onii-san?"

"I don't know." He didn't understand what a mother was. That was something his artist hadn't taught him.

_"UMI! Where are you?"_ He could hear another female voice in the distance to his left.

"It seems like your mother is coming to get you." The white haired man said slowly standing to his original height. "It's best if I leave now," He waved in her general direction with a smile hearing the chirping of his companions telling him to return.

"Bye bye onii-chan and thank you." He heard the girl say from behind. In return he hoped what he showed was a smile to the little girl.

Walking past other people was always a little difficult for him because they tended to bump into each other a lot and their voices and the sounds would overlap making him a little dizzy. Not to mention that he could differentiate between the sounds to an individual. But there was one that made him uneasy.

The sounds of knives. It was barely there, that sound but still loud enough for him to hear. Someone behind him smelled dangerous. The smell was a mixture of rust and something he couldn't put his finger on. But he could definitely tell that that person must be dangerous or at least not normal.

And he was right because after a while he could hear fighting happening and that rust like smell became more potent again and the sound of knives on that person.

* * *

"_You've got some nerve feeding us false information." _This was a voice he was unfamiliar with and did not sound friendly in the least.

_"Shit it's the cops, we need to leave now."_

_"Leave 'im there. Not like anyone's gonna find him."_

_"Serves you right."_

Not once did he hear the attacked utter a word as he was being what the man believed the term was 'beaten to death?'

There were so many words he didn't understand that it made it hard for him to connect with them. His companions chirped further down what he could feel was an alley way considering the walls were rather close together as he felt his way towards the so called 'man'.

"Is he over here?" The man asked his chirping companions.

In response they chirped in frantic tones circling around a certain spot ahead of him.

Slowly he made his way towards them. He could hear ragged breathing from below him, meaning the person was on the ground.

He crouched down and let go of the flowers in his hands placing them aside so both of his hands would be free. Slowly he moved a hand forward trying to pinpoint the man's head.

His fingers made contact with something soft like paint bristles. This must've been the man's head.

"Are you really an angel?" The man on the ground said, even though he sounded like he was in a lot of pain.

That voice. He recognized that voice it was the same voice asking if he was an angel. He was that man who had saved him before, the man that doctor Shinra had called Izaya.

"_Sleep_" He could only mutter to the injured man before handing him a flower from his bouquet. "_Here."_

"I don't… ugh accept flowers from guys." The man tried to refuse, but the white haired male didn't listen.

Rather he recalled that this man needed to be carried to a place with medical care. The only thing he'd ever carried were flowers and so imitating the gesture, he scooped up the rather light male and held him close to avoid dropping him.

Somehow it surprised the man in his arms.

"You're a strange human." The man muffled into his shirt. This man was strange refusing help so weakly. Were people like this man just like him easily susceptible to injuries?

He could only sigh at 'Izaya's' words. It was ironic to think he was thinking the same thing. Even so he started to walk murmuring lines to himself.

"_That should be my line, Izaya." _

Luckily, his companions knew the city better than him. Carrying him wasn't the problem. It was the fact that he didn't know his way to the nearest hospital that was really pitiful. It was always scary listening to so many sounds and yet not understanding what they meant.

It was too dark for him to see anything. The only thing keeping him grounded was the feeling of the man in his arms.

Even if the world was dark, he still had a vague idea of what was in his path. A child with their parent, another one walked past him. And then another.

But he realized there was a pattern.

Not once did one of the passerby even look to ask what happened to the man in his arms or even offer any help.

He didn't understand why humans were so different. Perhaps his decision to pick him up was not 'human' of him?

That scared him even more. These humans were all strangers to him unlike his artist.

He was contemplating asking his companions for help when he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

"Why you have Izaya? You hurt him?" A low deep voice said from behind him from above. The other person was speaking down to him meaning the other was much taller than him. The tone was almost threatening if he listened closely.

"No, he was already this way. Where is the nearest hospital?" The man said urgently honestly worried for the man in his arms. Considering that his temperature was rising the longer he hesitated, there was no way a human would survive like this.

"Izaya no like hospital. Come Russia Sushi. I help." The male said.

"Thank you very much." He nodded his head in an attempt to bow, but failing since 'Izaya' was still out cold in his arms.

The man had a thick accent. Something foreign, but as to which ethnicity he wasn't too sure. But he didn't seem like a bad person.

At least not from what he could hear.

Obediently he tried to follow the foreigner, but he had difficulty trying to listen to his footsteps.

He could feel himself falling behind further and further.

"Over here" The deep voice said. The white haired male nodded and continued following that voice.

Somehow they made it somewhere where the smell of food could be smelt.

"Simon, who do you have with you." A new voice, fluent yet also foreign said.

"Izaya hurt. Fighting bad. We must call Shinra."

"It seems so, but I'd like to know the fellow with the white hair."

"Please excuse me" He bowed apologetically. "I don't know how badly he's hurt, but please take care of him, onegaishimasu."

Dennis and Simon were surprised how forceful this white haired boy was. Even though he looked like a delicate person, his voice was still gentle but full of inner strength that it was hard to not admire.

"I like your spirit. But you don't need to bow like that. I'll call him now." The other man said.

The albino smiled relieved causing his cheeks to flush a light pink with unshed tears in his eyes. He didn't understand why, but he had this feeling this was what humans called "_relief" _

His artist had once mentioned that before.

"_Why do humans cry?" _

His artist had laughed at the question. It was the first time he'd heard it.

"_Crying huh. That depends. I think only humans cry for more than one reason. Because of sadness, anger, to deceive or for happiness." _

For what reason was he crying for? Sadness? Deceit? Happiness?

He didn't know.

He didn't know his own emotions when they ran amok.

Simon rarely ever saw such an innocent yet sad smile on a boy's face like that. Not even from those students Mikado or even Masaomi.

Dennis instructed the albino to place Izaya in a cleared out room, but Dennis noticed something strange about the male.

Not once had he opened his eyes. Even Simon had noticed this strange trait about the unusual male. Eyes hidden by pale eyelids. It was hard to imagine any colour on him considering a was a different compilation of whites and blue just like the sky.

He looked sort of Japanese yet not. With his white hair and a light tan it was hard to tell where he'd come from.

But somehow he looked familiar to the Black Russian. Or maybe not considering his hair reminded the Russian of the stormy winters of Russia, but the male's profile did not ring any bells.

Dennis went to make a phone call leaving Simon, the albino waiting for the informant to gain consciousness.

The silent was loud with only Izaya's breathing filling the void.

Simon was the first to break it.

"You know Iz-ay-a?" Simon asked the white haired male.

The man smiled apologetically with eyes closed. "Only by his voice."

_"Why did you save him? Normally no one would try to save him."_

The other person was no longer speaking…Japanese? It sounded more like… Polish? No it was more Russian. Was this man he was speaking to perhaps of Russian descent?

The white haired male tilted his head a little thoughtfully wondering about his own answer. Was there a specific reason why he saved him? He figured it was only right to help an injured person no matter who they were. Was he perhaps wrong in his judgement? Is that why no one stepped in to help him? Because it was not _humane_ of him to do so?

Humans were complicated. He felt it was only right to help him considering this man had saved him before from being erased by those teenagers. He recalled a conversation he had with his artist one time.

_"Humans are funny creatures. Do you know why?" _She had asked him, but he couldn't answer at the time.

_"Because we have feelings." _He heard something like buttons clicking as she talked. But he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

_"Even if our decision is a mistake we still choose to make them. If someone has done something nice for us, it is only natural that we wish to do something for them even if it is not the best choice. Do you know what that is called? _She had sounded amused at the time, but he wasn't sure why.

His artist even though she was a little anti-social, she had a way with words when it came to the human heart. Even though her voice sounded cold at times, he knew from listening that she cared far more than other people thought.

The male with eyes remaining closed tilted his head in Simon's direction. He had a flash of the scent of rust, much stronger than usual. There was something dangerous in that smell of his. But she had never explained it to him. But he remembered what that action was called.

The white haired male smiled a little knowingly reaching out a hand to brush Izaya's bangs out of his eyes being reminded of his debt to this man.

_"I'm just returning the favour." _

* * *

**Chapter 2 is now complete although a little rushed. Might alter it here and there, but... **

**Comment or review on what you think and as always thanks for reading:) **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Durarara. Only own OCs. **


End file.
